Spin the Bottle
by hadejayden
Summary: AU: A drunk Sherlock suggests that he and Moriarty play a game of spin the bottle. There's only two of them, but they go ahead and do it anyway.


After much deliberation, Sherlock had allowed Jim to open the bottle of rum he had so graciously purchased before arriving at Baker Street that evening.

What had originally been planned as a quiet night in pondering the trials and tribulations of each other's professions, had soon been transformed into an occasion of too much alcohol and not enough intelligible conversation. As he watched Jim raise the glass to his smirking lips for what could have very possibly been the eightieth time, Sherlock found himself wondering how on earth he had gotten here. Sitting cross-legged, on the floor of his flat, drinking spirits, opposite _this_ man.

At first, these meetings had troubled him. But back then, there had been no rum.

He continued to peer at Jim as he delicately placed the bottle on the floor between them. His small smile erupted into an uncontrollable grin, stretching to either side of his face, turning his already flushed cheeks a deeper, and more attractive, shade of pink. Sherlock decided that it was nice to see him smile free from the misery of others. It was very nice indeed. Sherlock had also decided that Jim had a very nice face for a criminal, and that this probably explained why he was so successful in his endeavors. As well as this, he had decided that if he took one of more sip of rum, he was most likely going to vomit .

Jim rubbed his palms together excitedly.

"Okay so, would you rather-"

Sherlock began to shake his head in protest. Realising that it was making him woozy, he stopped. "No, I simply decline to play that game. I refuse"

"You _simply decline_?" Jim snorted "Come onnnnn, it's just a little fun, Sherlock"

Pushing himself onto his knees, he inclined his body slowly towards the detective's face. Taking care not to spill the open bottle between them, Jim allowed his lips to downturn into a dramatic pout. He fluttered his eyelashes for effect.

"Oh pleeease, I just want to play a little game with the world famous Mr Sherlock Holmes!"

Sherlock gave a small laugh, which was cut short by his need to secure his palms to the floor in an attempt to steady himself. The room was spinning. He spoke slowly.

"Don't you think we've played enough games, you and I?"

Jim thought he could sense mild flirtation in his tone. "There's always time for one more"

He became moderately disappointed as Sherlock began shaking his head again.

"No, not that one. That's not a fun game" he said, his words only slightly slurred despite his current condition. "We should play my game." Releasing his hands from the floor, he cautiously screwed the top back on the bottle and placed it on it's side. He wasn't entirely sure what had prompted him to do this... In fact, he wasn't sure at all. He didn't need to be sober to know that it was a foolish idea, that would probably act as the cause to their hastily ended evening.

But Sherlock wasn't sober. He was drunk. Oh, so _very_ drunk.

Jim was still perched on his knees, awaiting explanation.

Sherlock allowed his features to settle in to what he hoped was a look of sultry mischief.

"Let's play spin the bottle"

Jim's eyes narrowed. He struggled to contain the edgy giggle that had risen in his throat. "There's only two of us..."

Sherlock shrugged "I thought you wanted to play a game"

"I do" he responded quietly, letting his eyes wander from Sherlock's own, to the overturned bottle in the space between them. He found himself feeling surprised that something like this was even being suggested. Sure, Jim had thought about it himself – countless times, but he had always imagined that he would have been the one to instigated it. That he would have been the one to make the first move, finally addressing the reasoning behind their continued meetings that didn't really need to happen but kept on happening anyway. Yes, he was definitely surprised. Surprised and... Slightly aroused?

Shifting his position, Jim cleared his throat. He grasped the bottle firmly between his fingers and gave a quick flick of his wrist. It spun quickly for a few seconds before coming to a rest, it's neck pointing directly towards Sherlock. Jim met his gaze again. His earlier smile had disappeared, but the feverish, flushed look remained etched on his skin.

"I'd love to play"

Their lips met in a frenzy of desperate contact and inaccessible desire with the completion of Jim's words. He had spoken them with clear intentions of what was to come, feeling his cheeks turn slightly hotter as the reality of the instant consumed him. He slid his tongue expertly from his own mouth and into Sherlock's, causing the emission of a tiny, unmistakable shudder from the detective, that did nothing to quell the growing firmness in his own trousers.

The still not quite empty bottle was hurriedly shoved aside as their bodies came together, their limbs became tangled, and their kiss was deepened further. Sherlock was unsure as to whether his senses were failing him, or if this really did feel so completely plethoric. Jim's hands were in his hair, around his waist, and grazing his neck; they seemed to come from every angle with the intention of touching every single part of him before this ended. He could feel him occupying his lungs – as if every struggled breath he took from now on would contain Jim Moriarty, and the almost overpowering taste of rum, that he had probably contributed to himself too.

Vaguely aware that he was being pushed to the floor, Sherlock only tightened his grip around the slim body dominating him, somehow still hoping that his mouth was responding the way Jim wanted it to. He was dubious as to whether the alcohol had made him seem more experienced than he really was. It didn't seem to matter.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear a shrill voice calling his name. Assuming it was merely his own subconscious trying to further draw his attention towards this euphoric state of bliss, Sherlock allowed his body to relax farther beneath the weight of his commander.

It was only when he felt Jim abruptly launch himself towards the window at the far corner of the room, that he realised the true origin of the voice.

"Sherlock! John's here to see you!"

Mrs Hudson.

Bolting to his feet, and desperately trying to ignore the searing pain that shot through his head, Sherlock swayed wearily from side to side. His immense satisfaction sunk into a deep state of panic as the room began to spin uncontrollably as a pair of feet noisily made their way up the stairs.

It was only when the door swung open that he realised that Jim was no longer in the room.

John let his gaze linger for a few seconds, before making his way into the flat. He stood in the centre of the room, and tediously sniffed the air.

"Have you been drinking?"

Summoning every inch of strength from within himself, Sherlock stood motionless in front of the bottle on the floor. He shrugged slowly.

"I fear that I quite enjoy the taste of rum now"


End file.
